It Could Be Easier
by gloaming grove
Summary: Ishida knows life would be easy with Inoue, and he's wanted her for a long time. When Ichigo starts acting strangely around him, he is forced to reevaluate what he wants. -Yaoi. Don't like, don't read.
1. 1: Desks

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach. I make no money from this.

Set at any point in the story-line where they are in Karakura, after Ichigo and Ishida become friends. The teacher is a very, very minor OC. There is a reason.

_New readers:_ I wrote this for a contest, and chapter six was published first. Now the chapters are complicated. I'm going to try to sort it out, but there's no guarantee. Look at the chapter titles to see which chapter you are actually reading! Consider yourself warned.

Thank-you to **FlyingTackle**, who has agreed to beta this fic for me!

* * *

_Ishida's POV_

We have a new homeroom teacher. My classmates appear to be very enamored of her but I, for one, am not. I could look past the outlandish clothes. I could forgive her unreserved nature and strange ideas. I could even accept her unusual 'interactive learning' methods. But I can't forgive the desks.

The linear arrangement of desks in a classroom is a time-honored and proven custom. It works. It's efficient, so why change it? The words of the much-adored Mikota-sensei are far too many and too inconsistent to repeat; suffice to say that she wants us to work in _groups_.

This shouldn't be so terrible. Apart from having to look over my right shoulder to see the board and the front of the classroom, there is little to complain about. The grouping I find myself in is not disagreeable. Finding Orihime-san seated facing me was an unexpected pleasure, especially as she doesn't see the need to fight for foot-space. I'm counting small blessings, at this point.

It also allows me further opportunity to watch her undetected. I shudder to think of the teasing I would have to endure if anyone discovered my… obsession. I watch her; I think about her constantly, she haunts my dreams. Every time our feet brush under the desks, a tingle shoots up my spine. I am nearly rendered speechless to answer her earnest apologies. Tatsuki-san, on her right, is a diligent student.

I would have resigned myself to being seated at the right hand side of Kurosaki but for one fact: I am left-handed, he is not.

For those who have never had the misfortune of being seated on the wrong side of one who writes with the opposite hand to them, let me explain. You can't write anything neatly. You are jarred constantly, our elbows collide, and your forearms fight for dominance over the limited space. And for some reason that escapes me entirely, Kurosaki refuses to swap!

So it is that I am forced to endure not only his constant presence, but constant contact also. Is it any wonder that I am cranky?

Kurosaki is currently fighting a battle on two fronts, one on the desk and one on the floor. He and Tatsuki-san have been playing footsy for the past half hour. Aren't you supposed to grow out of this kind of behavior before high school? Then again, they were in middle school together, maybe it represents some twisted kind of bonding. From the way they are glaring, I'd say it's likely.

A violent lurch sends my pen skittering across my page, again. I suppress an irrational desire to drive it through Kurosaki's hand. I don't want to upset Orihime-san, so, getting my bloodthirsty urges under control, I merely sigh and address the problem directly.

"Kurosaki. That is the third time today," I say sharply, indicating my page, "and it's only ten am."

He looks over at my work and opens his mouth to speak, and then, oddly, he frowns and closes it again. "Sorry, Ishida."

I nod briefly, putting the unusual behavior out of my mind, and get back to my English assignment. I'm going to have to complete it at home; even without constant interruptions, creative writing is not my strong suit. My writing arm remains undisturbed, largely due to the fact that Kurosaki has abandoned his assignment in favor of glaring out the window. The foot battle resumes, after a while. It is less intense than before though. Small blessings.

By the time the bell rings for lunch, I have made little progress. I put my books away and retrieve my lunch, looking forward to the peace of an empty classroom, but it seems I won't even be granted that; I notice Kurosaki standing over me, watching me eat.

"Do you need something?"

"Are you gonna come eat with us?"

"And endure Keigo-san's constant whining? I'll stay here."

"Okay."

I expect him to leave but instead he drops into Tatsuki-san's seat and opens his lunch box.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating lunch. You got a problem with that?"

"No."

We sit in silence for the rest of the lunch break. Every now and then Kurosaki seems like he's going to say something, but he keeps quiet and lets me regain some sense of calm before the afternoon classes and the desk-territory battles begin anew.

He has been behaving a bit unusually lately. He hasn't been paying attention in class. Every so often he'll start to say something then stop, like he did earlier. There must be something bothering him. He acts normally around the others, but I can tell. I'm sure he'll sort it out though. He's not the sort to sit idle.

During history, while Tatsuki-san and Orihime-san sit tracing the spread of Minamoto Yoritomo's rule and influence on a map, I sense Kurosaki's concentration drift away from our map. I am somewhat annoyed as we are getting marked as a pair, so I glance over at him, ready to berate him for not applying himself, but the words die in my throat.

He is watching me; watching me in a way that stills my voice and makes me feel somewhat awkward. He looks away quickly when I meet his eyes, and applies himself to the lesson. I am left wondering if the slight guilty start and flush on his cheeks when I caught him are real, or a product of my imagination.

~ ~ * ~ ~

I have long since put it out of my mind in favor of my creative writing homework when my doorbell rings. I go downstairs to answer it, hoping it is not Ryuken come to check up on me again. It's not. It's Kurosaki. This is also a new development; he's never sought me out before. I think back to lunch time and change my mind; he's never sought me out at home before.

"Yo, Ishida."

"Hello, Kurosaki."

I wait for him to say something and give a reason for his unprecedented visit but he just stands there, scowling and looking somewhat defiant. I suppose I'd better let him in; it would be rude to make him stand on the doorstep, and he isn't showing any signs of leaving anytime soon.

"Would you like to come in?"

"Yeah, okay."

I stand back and let him through the door. He stands, hands in pockets, scowling at nothing in particular while I lock the door again, and then follows me upstairs.

I'm still puzzled as to why he's here, but I can't very well leave him standing in the hall and demand an explanation. He's a guest in my home, my first guest since I moved here, actually. So I do my hostly duties and offer him something to drink and show him to the lounge.

"Nice place."

"Thank-you." I take a seat on the couch opposite him and we stare at each other in silence for a few moments. If this is what the rest of his visit will be like, I sincerely hope he comes to the point quickly.

"Why's it so dark in here?"

"I've been busy with my homework since I got home; I didn't notice it had gotten so late." The conversation dwindles again into awkward silence, and I rack my brain for anything to fill the silence. As if prompted, my stomach answers with an uncomfortable gurgle, reminding me that I have not eaten since lunch. I seize upon the opportunity, knowing it is unlikely that Kurosaki is as hung up on manners as Ryuken.

"I'm going to make some dinner. Have you eaten?"

"No, the food wasn't ready when I left home."

"I'll bring you a bowl then. Wait here," I turn to leave, adding, "and try not to break anything." I hit the light switch on my way out.

In the kitchen, I open the cupboard above the microwave and try to decide what flavor to make tonight. Fifteen minutes later, I return to the lounge with two bowls of chicken flavored noodles.

"Ramen?" Kurosaki looks surprised.

"You don't like ramen?"

"No, I do, it's just…" I wait, blank-faced, for the rest of the sentence. "…unexpected, that's all."

We slurp noodles (well, Kurosaki slurps, at any rate) contentedly. It's amazing how food can make everything better. When we're done, I take our bowls to the kitchen and leave them in the sink to soak. I'm in the middle of staring into my noodle cupboard, contemplating how the extra bowl is going to throw out my shopping schedule, when I realize that Kurosaki has followed me.

He's leaning against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on his lips. "You can't cook."

"Of course I can," I lie irritably, "I just don't take the time to."

"Really? Why don't I believe you?"

I can see this rapidly devolving into a sniping match. My irritation must show on my face because, to my surprise, he drops it, "I guess I don't have to cook very often, but I guess I'd also go for ramen if it was just me." He really has been acting differently lately.

As we move back to the lounge, he launches into a detailed monologue on the kind of food he gets to eat at home, pausing only to sprawl across my three-seater couch, eyes closed and feet up. I experience a flash of irritation at his feet on my couch, but I suppress it, not willing to break the tenuous peace.

Eventually, however, my supply of patience runs out. If his family meals are so marvelous, then why the hell is he here instead of eating at home? "As much as I'm enjoying your ode-to-home-cooking," I interrupt sharply, "I doubt that is the reason you came here. What do you want, Kurosaki?"

He falls silent, and then, eyes still shut, he states, "I want you to make me a dress."

"A dress?" I daresay my surprise showed in my voice.

"Yes."

"You want me to make you a dress." I stare at him, bemused, trying to process the unlikely image my mind has just supplied.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" He props himself up on an elbow to glare at me. "Look, if you don't want…" He abruptly falls silent, then his eyes widen and he yells, "It's not for me! Geez. Get your mind out of the gutter." Face scarlet, he flops back on the couch, he continues in a quieter voice, "It's for my sister, Yuzu, for her birthday."

That makes a great deal more sense. He has two sisters, twins if I recall correctly. "I see."

"She's always taking care of us. You know, cooking, laundry, that kind of thing. Ever since mom died. She just sort of stepped into the role."

I'm not entirely sure why he's talking to me like this, opening up. Sure, we're friends, but he never gave any indication that he wanted someone to pour his heart out to. Still, it's somewhat refreshing to not be in some kind of shouting match. I find I like this new side to Kurosaki.

"She doesn't do much for herself, and I just thought I'd try to do something nice for her birthday, but I wasn't sure what, and then I thought of you and that ridiculous dress you put on Kon."

_Ridiculous dress_? It seems I spoke too soon. I am tempted to refuse, on principle. Insulting someone's work is hardly a constructive way to gain his help. But in truth, the challenge intrigues me; it's not very often I get to design outfits for living people, and I haven't had the opportunity to dress a little girl yet.

"Um, I mean…"

"I know what you mean. What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know, something pretty. She's really girly, so I guess frills and stuff; you know, buttons and ribbons and that kind of thing. I don't know much about it." Clearly.

"There will be no buttons. I can draw a few patterns, but I'd have to see her to judge properly. Can you get me a photo and some measurements?"

"I can do better. You could probably do with a proper meal anyway. Come for dinner on Thursday." Seeing my hesitation, he adds, "We can work on that history assignment afterwards."

"Okay."

"Cool. Hey, you said you'd been doing homework since you got home, right?"

Puzzled as to where this was leading, I answer, "Yes?"

"You really haven't got much done, have you?"

"You read my essay?!" I ask, dismayed and more than a bit annoyed. I don't even like letting the teacher read my creative writing.

"You didn't say I couldn't." Shaky logic if ever I heard it. "It's pretty good. I don't know why you always stress about it so much."

"How do you know about that?"

"I sit next to you in class. Did you forget?"

"I wish. Your juvenile antics ensure I am aware of you at all times." I didn't realize he paid all that much attention.

"Anyway, you should just write whatever comes into your head and don't stress about it. If you don't like it, change it later. Easy."

"If you say so."

"Go on, try it." Kurosaki didn't look like he was ready to go anywhere, so I sit down at the coffee table with my homework while he sprawls on the couch, feet up again.

I decide to give his method a chance. I'll try almost anything to make the process less tedious. I wince slightly at a clumsily phrased sentence, but I press on anyway. It seems to be going fairly well, and certainly a lot faster than before, but I keep getting distracted.

"Kurosaki?"

"Uhuh?"

"Get your feet off my couch."

* * *

**A/N:** This will be a slow-moving story. While I don't have anything against the suddenly-realize-my-best-friend-has-nipples-and-then-have-hot-man-smex-on-the-nearest-surface type of fic, but there isn't enough of the other kind out there, so this is my contribution to this pairing.


	2. 2: Closets

Uryu goes to Ichigo's house to get measurements for Yuzu. But why is his family acting so strange?

**Disclaimers:** I don't own Bleach. I don't own History's Strongest Disciple. I wish I did. It's awesome. You should all go read it and tell me how much you loved it in your _review_!

_Thank-you to FlyingTackle for beta reading this for me!_

_

* * *

_**Chapter 2- Closets**

It's Thursday after school and I'm waiting for Kurosaki. He said he would meet me at the lockers and we would go from here to his house to get started on our history assignment, but he's late. I lean against the lockers, growing more and more irritated as time passes.

Usually he leaves as soon as he can manage, but today he is nowhere to be found. The thought strikes me that he might have already left, but it's unlikely. I've been here, waiting, since the bell rang. And his shoes are still here. A hollow attack? No, surely I would have sensed it.

He eventually shows up and I greet him with a glare.

"You certainly took your time."

"Sorry." His voice is quiet, and he seems upset about something. "Something came up."

"A hollow attack?"

"No, it was…" his voice trailed off. "I'll tell you later. Let's just get out of here."

When we get to the gate I turn in the direction of his house, but he grabs my wrist to stop me and says, "There's a shop near here that sells an herb that Yuzu needs for tonight's meal, it's this way."

Still tugging on my wrist, he leads me across the street. He really is acting strangely today, even more so than recently. I pull free of him, saying, "I'm capable of following you on my own, Kurosaki. What's gotten into you today?"

He was silent for a long while, and I thought he would ignore me, but then he said abruptly, "It was Inoue-san. She said she wanted to speak to me. She confessed."

I slow as I get a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought. I've known for a long time that she liked him. I thought I was okay with it, but hearing the news is still difficult.

"So why are you here?" I ask roughly."Shouldn't you be with Inoue-san? I would have understood."

"I turned her down."

"What?" He is still walking ahead of me, so I can't see his face. Now it is my turn to grab his wrist and pull him to face me. He is scowling fiercely at this point. "Why?"

"I don't like her like that."

Kurosaki was offered what I've been dreaming about for months, and he turned her down? "I don't understand." I'm not sure if I should be upset or relieved.

"I don't want to date Inoue-san. I… I like someone else. It's kind of complicated." He's looking away from me now, a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Complicated?"

"Yeah." He starts scuffing the concrete with one foot. "I don't know…" he trails off, seeming uncertain, or possibly frustrated.

"Have you said anything?" He shakes his head. "Why not?"

"I'm not sure if… it's complicated." He sighs.

"I see." I consider asking who that person is, but it's unlikely that he will tell me, so I put it out of my mind for the time being. "Does your sister need the herbs urgently?"

He looks somewhat relieved and the blush recedes. "Probably. Let's go." He strides off, hands in pockets, leaving me to trail behind him to the store. My mind is so occupied with what he just told me about Inoue-san that I barely register our trip through the store until he tosses me a can at the exit.

"Earth to Ishida!" The cocky smirk is back. "You really spaced out in there."

I realize this is true, but I'm hardly about to let it slide. "It must be the scintillating conversation." I turn the can in my hand to see it is a brand of iced coffee I've never seen before. Not wanting to be rude, I say, "Thank you,", gesturing to the can.

"It's a new brand I've wanted to try. We'd better get this stuff back to Yuzu or dinner will be late. And that means we'll have to deal with my dad for that much longer."

"You say it as if it's a bad thing."

"Have you ever met my dad?! He's such an idiot. You wouldn't believe some of the shit he does."

"I thought he was a doctor?"

"Yeah, but you wouldn't know it! His standard greeting is a flying kick to the face. I'm woken up the same way."

"I find that hard to believe." I vaguely imagine some friendly camaraderie and rough-housing, and compare it to the greeting I get from my father. "I get a brief stare, and then I'm ignored - if I'm lucky. Usually I'm subjected to a long lecture on what I'm doing wrong in my life and how I disappoint him."

"But you're practically perfect!" Ichigo seems surprised. "What could he have to complain about?"

Practically perfect? I wonder if he meant it as a compliment or an insult, but he shows no signs either way, so I merely answer, "He doesn't agree with me following the path of the Quincy. As for the rest, it should be fairly obvious that he doesn't want me anywhere near shinigami."

"It's a bit late for that, huh?"

"Yes. But he can always find the time to drop by and criticize any other aspect of my life."

"That sucks."

"Yes," I stumble on the unfamiliar phrase, "it sucks."

* * *

Kurosaki shoves the door to his home open, yelling, "I'm home!". He carelessly steps out of his shoes by virtue of using the time-honored toe-to-heel method and strides into the house. "Yuzu, I've got your herbs."

I take the time to remove my shoes, and straighten his in the process, before following him. I'm somewhat curious, as I've never been inside his home before. I've only seen it from the outside. I follow Kurosaki through a doorway to my right to an open-plan kitchen and dining room, where a small blond girl, presumably Yuzu, is peering into the plastic bag Kurosaki brought from the shop.

If this is the right sibling, there is a lot to work with in the way of potential wardrobe. My mind immediately fills with images of cute dresses with carefully arranged layers, maybe a tasteful bow or two. I know immediately that I can't turn Kurosaki's request down.

Hearing footsteps, she looks up at me. I have to admit I am surprised; I see little family resemblance, except perhaps the uncommonly pale hair. "Ichi-nii, is this…" she pauses, "a friend?" Her voice is gentle, and she seems very sweet.

Suddenly feeling awkward, I introduce myself, "Ishida Uryu. Pleased to meet you."

"I'm Yuzu. Pleased to meet you, Ishida-san." She looks at me intently. "Will you be joining us for dinner?"

I turn to Kurosaki, who is looking slightly embarrassed, and rightly so. "You didn't let her know you invited me?"

"Well, I…" he started, but he was interrupted by a girl's voice from the doorway behind us.

"He probably forgot. He always forgets stuff like that." The speaker is a girl of around the same age as Yuzu. She is wearing sports gear and holding a soccer ball. "I'm Karin. Practice finished early, so I'm going to do my homework," she says abruptly, "Call me for dinner?" At her sister's nod, she turns and leaves the room.

"Do you need any help, Yuzu?" Kurosaki asks.

"No, it's alright. You should spend some time with Ishida-san."

"Yuzu," Ichigo says, holding his sister's gaze, "Ishida and I are going to do homework."

"Okay, I'll tell Otou-san."

I'm left feeling somewhat confused by this exchange. It seems like I am missing something. But then again, I am the last person who should comment on family dynamics.

I'm curious to see Kurosaki's room, and I find it far less messy than I expected. The bed under the window is neatly made, and the floor is completely clear. In fact, the only messy place in the room is the desk beside his bed, which is covered in files, papers, textbooks and what appear to be manga volumes. He dumps his school bag against the bed and sits down to tidy it, stacking files and books in teetering piles.

"I didn't get a chance to clean up yet," he explains.

What really catch my attention, though, are the drawings taped to the wall.

"I would ask if your sisters drew those for you, but they look disturbingly familiar."

He snorts. "Damn Midget! She taped them up there before she went back to soul society and threatened to… torture me if I took them down." He stops tidying and glances at me sideways, saying "And don't insult my sisters, Quincy."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Well, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to sit down?"

There is only one chair in the room, and he's already sitting on it. That leaves the floor… or the bed. I'm not really comfortable with sitting on someone else's bed, but sitting on the floor behind Kurosaki is going to be far too awkward. And there's no way I'm going to sit at his feet looking up at him like a grade-schooler at his teacher. The bed it is.

I lean my bag against the foot of the bed and perch at the top near the desk. Kurosaki has nearly finished his cleaning spree - by virtue of stuffing papers randomly into drawers - and only the manga volumes remain of the clutter.

"What are you reading?" I ask, curiously.

"History's Strongest Disciple, Kenichi. Have you heard of it?"

"I've heard of it, but I haven't read it."

"It's awesome. I've got all the volumes so far, and I'm nearly done with the latest one. You can borrow them, if you like." It's strange to see this side of him. His enthusiasm gives me a glimpse of what he must have been like when he was younger, and less surly.

"I'd like that, thanks."

He carefully stacks the volumes on his desk and puts them in one of his bottom drawers. He pulls out two and hands them to me. "The first two volumes. If you want more, you can just tell me." When I hesitate, he says, "Just take them. I've already read them, and I know you'll take good care of them."

I slip the manga carefully into my bag.

"So, what do you think?"

I am genuinely confused. Sometimes his mind jumps around like a frog in a hot wok. "Of?"

"Yuzu." he says impatiently. "Can you help me?"

I ponder rotating lines of pretty dresses and answer him honestly, "The trouble will be knowing when to stop."

"I told you she's really girly. Like a doll, or a character from a nursery rhyme. She even has a basket."

"I'll probably be able to get it fairly close, but it'll be best if I can get measurements."

"But it'll spoil the surprise if we run after her with a measuring tape. Would seeing some of her clothes help?"

"That should be fine. But how will we get them?"

"Karin's in their room now, but I'm sure we can get a look at them later."

"You would go through a girl's drawer?" The thought makes me distinctly uncomfortable.

"They're my little sisters. It's fine," he says, and then adds, "but we probably shouldn't let Karin catch us."

We get our stuff out for the assignment, decide on task allocations, and get started. We've made good progress by the time a commotion downstairs indicates what I assume is the arrival of his father.

My suspicions are confirmed when Kurosaki groans and closes his book. "Great, he's home. You can put the books away; we won't get any more done. I'm warning you now. My father's an idiot. Don't listen to anything he says."

I can't help but feel that he's exaggerating. But in comparison to my father, almost anything would be an improvement.

There are footsteps on the stairs and then the door is flung open and a blur bounds into the room, flying towards my waiting classmate.

"Ichigo!" The syllables are drawn out and resound through the small room before coming to an abrupt halt as the man slams upside-down against the cupboard and lands on his head. I can only stare in shock. What the hell kind of a greeting is that?

The man is dark-haired and sports a small goatee. He is still wearing a white clinic jacket from work.

Still upside down, he looks at me and gives a goofy smile.

"Yo! You must be Ichigo's boyfriend. I'm his father; call me Isshin."

I wonder if he is teasing me. He must be. As I attempt to process this question, I can feel my face flushing in embarrassment.

Not as brightly as Kurosaki's though; he looks like he's about to have a stroke. "What are you saying? He's a friend from school!"

"But Yuzu…"

He stages a flying kick at his father's head, yelling, "A friend! We're doing homework!"

"Pleased to meet you, Isshin-san," I manage as he dodges the kick smoothly, "I'm Ishida Uryu."

"Ishida?" He appears surprised. "Would you be Ryuken's boy, then?"

"Do you know my father?"

"He's an old colleague of mine. Maybe I should give him a call and catch up."

I am saved from having to respond to this when Karin yells, "Dinner!" from downstairs.

With a cry of, "My Yuzu-chan's wonderful cooking!" Isshin-san exits the room, leaving a very red teen glowering after him.

"I told you he was an idiot," Kurosaki says, noticeably not looking at me. "Let's go eat. The sooner we get there the sooner it will end."

I follow him downstairs. He is still bright red, and muttering under his breath. Little of it makes sense, but I can sympathize when a mention of 'patricide' reaches my ears. Perhaps I should be more thankful for Ryuken's distant behavior. He is always the picture of decorum in company, and he never teases like that.

My mind is whirling to sort out the events of the past two minutes, but it keeps returning to one thought: Isshin-san didn't look like he was teasing.

* * *

There is only one thought in my mind when we make our way back upstairs after dinner: This family is insane.

It started out innocently enough. Yuzu served the food (it was well deserving of multiple monologues), and small talk was made. It degenerated swiftly thereafter into an outright brawl between the male Kurosakis, with Karin throwing in the odd blow when they disturbed the table.

What disturbs me most is that it seemed to be a fairly normal occurrence. Judging by the way Yuzu sat calmly enjoying her meal, the turbulence is nothing new. I took my queue from her and she smiled at me serenely, oblivious to the noisy trio.

The squabbling continued right through dessert (also excellent) and ended only when Isshin-san excitedly exclaimed that it was time for him to watch his television programs with his precious daughters and made off with one under each arm, Karin struggling wildly to free herself. We were allowed to escape by citing homework as an excuse.

Kurosaki doesn't go directly to his room. Instead, he approaches the door on the far right, gestures me to follow, and slips inside. The room obviously belongs to his sisters.

One side is scrupulously neat and decorated in variations of pale pastels. There is what appears to be a shrine to teddy-bears on one wall, and more stuffed animals rest like royalty on the bed. The other side continues the pastel theme, but in blue, and sports posters and paraphernalia litter every available surface. It does not take a genius to see which side belongs to whom.

I give Kurosaki a quizzical look, and he hisses, "The dress. We can look while they're distracted."

"When exactly did this become 'us' digging in your sister's closet, anyway?" I respond irritably. "Never mind, you wouldn't know what to look for anyway."

He opens one side of the closet and I rifle through small, feminine articles of clothing, feeling very much like a stalker. I think if I were caught now, I would sink into a puddle on the floor. Or run away and never show my face again. I make a mental note to pay Kurosaki back for every excruciating moment of it.

Once we are safely back in his room, measurements uneventfully acquired, we spend a few moments talking about what kind of clothing he has in mind. For the most part, he seems content to leave the decisions to me.

"Okay, I think I have everything I need. When did you say her birthday was?"

"It's in three weeks. Is that enough time?"

"It's plenty. I'll bring some designs for you to look at, and you can choose what you like best."

"Hey, I've been thinking. You'll need to get a whole bunch of stuff for the dress, and I'd feel bad to just give you the money. Do you want to go to the city next weekend to get it?"

As I happily contemplate an entire trip dedicated to exploring one of the largest sewing supply stores in Japan, he sits fiddling with the corner of his bedspread.

"I'd pay for it, of course." Still lost in happy thoughts, I only come back to reality when he says, "Ishida-san? You don't have to if you don't want to."

There's no way I'm going to explain to him that he now has as much chance of getting out of this one as he does of spontaneously combusting in the bath. "It's fine. I'll go."

He seems pleased. "Okay. Let me know when you know what you need, and we'll make arrangements."

Another loud crash from downstairs suggests that Karin has lost patience with her father's clingy ways. I smile. What a strange family.

"That's the second time I've seen you smile this week."

"Really?" I'm surprised that he even noticed.

"Yeah, you're usually such a crank that it just looks unnatural," he teases.

"That's like the pot calling the kettle black."

"Can you blame me? With a father like mine… I get woken every morning by a flying kick to the head!"

"Well, it certainly explains the slowness of thought."

Now he is smiling.

Comfortable in someone's company for the first time in longer than I can remember, I blurt the question that has been bothering me all evening. "Earlier, when I met your father - does he tease you like that often?"

His eyes widen and he looks away abruptly. He is silent for a long while, and I begin to wonder if he's going to answer. His silence is telling, and a number of things begin to fall into place.

"You don't have to…" I start, but he cuts me off.

"I forgot to tell Yuzu you were coming, and she must have got the wrong impression earlier." His voice is quiet. He takes a deep breath and looks up, jaw clenched. "My father wasn't teasing, just mistaken. Ishida, I'm gay."

* * *

**A/N:** A bit longer this time, I hope you enjoyed it! Please review if you did! As always, concrit is welcome too.**  
**

I removed chapter 6. I'll put it back up after chapter 5 is posted.


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